Horsley: New room brings nice surprise

Alzheimer’s disease is big business, a fact you will discover when you begin researching facilities that care for people with memory loss issues. A month ago, I wrote about my family’s exhaustive investigation into places where my aging mom could live out her remaining days in safety and dignity.

An unexpected surprise ended our search, proving that not all Alzheimer’s stories end with heartbreak. More about that in a minute.

A dizzying array of institutions, hospitals, locked wards, care facilities, and group homes offer services ranging from a little help all the way to treating end-stage Alzheimer’s, when you basically become like an infant again. I looked at them all. Each one shoved an expensive brochure into my hand, detailing various “levels of care” and telling me everything about their facility except the price. For that, I had to ask.

Rich people or those with good long-term care insurance have it made, relatively speaking. They end up in the very best facilities, places that resemble your nicer hotels. Such facilities generally include an “age in place” feature, meaning as residents’ dementia advances, they get moved into more and more intensive areas of care until they end up in what’s essentially a nursing home-like environment.

The high-end “age in place” facilities often have large campuses; one I visited boasted a 400-acre compound that included separate buildings for each stage of the disease. You’ll pay dearly for such luxury, but if you can afford it, why not? We all want the best for our loved ones. The staff at some of these giant campuses is quite good, as are the “sales” people. Occasionally I was a little turned off by too much salesmanship, but that’s just me.

Most of the large facilities do not accept Medicaid, so when the money runs out, you must move your loved one into a Medicaid nursing home, a prospect that’s about as appealing as it sounds. My family agreed we would do everything in our power to ensure that Mom never had to go to such a place.

Occupying the middle ground of facilities are what I call “boutique” Alzheimer’s care companies. They generally have fewer than 100 residents, often divided into “houses” or “communities” under one roof with names like Garden House or Sunshine Village.

Some of the mid-size Alzheimer’s places take Medicaid and some don’t. Some are run by non-profit or religious institutions; others are strictly for-profit. As a general rule, the non-profit places seemed warmer and more caring, but not always.

At the other end of the paradigm are homes which, driving past, you can’t tell from a normal residence, because they really are normal residences. There’s no sign out front, no handicapped parking spaces. They look like every other house on the block, but inside live 4 to 6 people with Alzheimer’s, attended to by various medical, food, and cleaning staff. Each resident has his or her own room, decorated with her own furniture, pictures, and TV. Within reason, they even let you pick the paint color.

After visiting dozens of places both large and small, meeting with their staffs and medical directors, taking the full tour through countless keypad-protected entryways and exits, and collecting a huge stack of brochures, my family got the best “vibe” from a group home 10 minutes from my brother’s house. The question was, how to get Mom to move? She was adamant about “not going to an old-folks home.” She might not remember my kids’ names, but she could remember that much.

My brother devised a plan to move Mom with minimal drama. He told her he was taking her to lunch, timing their arrival at the group home to coincide with lunchtime for the other residents, who eat meals family-style in the dining room, waited on by the cook. Mom thought it was the cat’s pajamas.

Afterwards, we said we had a surprise for her: a new room with its own bathroom. We had filled her new room with familiar furniture and pictures, so when she walked in, it would look and feel like her old room. “Oh, how nice!” she said, and turned on the TV to watch Andy Griffith reruns. “Honey,” she said, “close that door on your way out, would you?”

David Horsley is an Amarillo freelance writer. He teaches English at West Texas A&M Universiity.

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I am glad you were able to make her transition smooth for her, as well as the family. Good luck as you travel down this horrible road. Keep writing about it. It will make your journey less.lonely and tell the world what this dreaded disease is really about.

Writing is a catharsis. My prayers will follow you and yours Mr. Horsley.

May your Mom know comfort, peace and dignity.

I lost my Dad and hero three years ago to this devastating illness. Watching Andy Griffith together was a comforting part of our daily routine.

I found that if you look for them there will be many blessings amongst the hardships. Our suffering can be redemptive. God draws straight with crooked lines they say. We can grow by embracing the little crosses that come our way.

often happen as those we have always known start to fade. When mom started to fade from us my sister was more upset than she was. One day sister took mom's favorite , green beans, to her for lunch. Mom enjoyed them and a few minutes later asked sister why she didn't bring green beans.

Distraught, sister said, "mom, i did you have already eaten them."

Mom looked at her like she had just committed a mortal sin and said, "Do not lie to your mother, i have told you that all of your life."

Totally upset, sister said, "Mom, you don't remember because you have Alzheimers.?"

Mom looked at sister like she was a half wit and said, "Don't be ridiculous if i had Alzheimers i wouldn't know who you are, now, where are the green beans?"

As the years have passed no family gathering is complete without someone asking "Where are the green beans". We all smile and remember her logic even when her memory was fading as well as sister being reprimanded for telling lies.

I think you will remember , "Honey , close that door on your way out, would you" with a smile of fondness and peace.

Question with boldness even the existence of a god; because if there be one he must approve of the homage of reason more than that of blindfolded fear. Thomas Jefferson in a letter to Peter Carr, August 10, 1787